


Tear In My Heart

by b_ndito



Category: Hiveswap
Genre: Character study? kinda?, Drabble, Help, I SWEAR THIS IS NOT THE ONLY SHIP I LIKE, M/M, Pale-Red Vacillation, Random & Short, Relationship Confusion, Theres's like a little bit of fluff in there but only if you squint really hard, Xefros just kinda reflects on some stuff, because i just seem to get so invested in the dynamic of this awful relationship for some reason?, it's just like the only one that motivates me to write, while Dammek snores and drools all over him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-28
Updated: 2018-09-28
Packaged: 2019-07-18 12:18:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16118306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/b_ndito/pseuds/b_ndito
Summary: You’re almost disturbingly aware of how much you need him, but are still caught up on whether or not he really needs you. He doesn’t ask you to help him, he only insists that he should help you.What a considerate moirail you have…!...You think.





	Tear In My Heart

**Author's Note:**

> unfinished one-shot thingy that i don't plan on continuing or anything. it's been sitting there for like two weeks now and i've honestly just gotten bored with it haha.
> 
> but i mean. hey. here u go.

Maybe… maybe you aren’t quite as cut out for this as you’d like to think. 

 

He pays no mind to the fact that,  _ oh my god _ , his head is on your shoulder; his face is buried so sweetly in your neck; you’re unsure exactly how you feel about that. His soft, even breathing tickles your skin and it makes you kind of want to push him away, but you don’t dare. The arm you have draped around him stays put, in fact, your entire body remains as it was when he had fallen asleep. You’re tormented with the confliction of A) waking him up and pissing him off, but being relieved of the awkwardness or B) letting him sleep, because he needed this, but having to force yourself to stay still.

 

His arm that’s been cast across your torso moves ever so slightly, shifting just enough so that he can lazily cling to your shirt.  _ Oh god. _

 

In his sleeping state, he’s so oblivious to how confused he’s making you feel and you’re hit with the realization that he’s still just as oblivious to this kind of stuff he does to you even when he’s awake. Sitting here on the floor, you’re beyond uncomfortable. Then again, around him, are you ever really, truly, 100% in your comfort zone? Eh, not always.

 

You had only agreed to let him rest his eyes for a few minutes so that you could watch over a little bit and comfort the troll should he have a nightmare, but it’s been about an hour now, and despite your inner complaints, a part of you is enjoying this. That was just a fact. You mean, it’s not every day that you get to be this close with your matesprit.  _ Moirail. It’s not every day that you get to be this close with your moirail. _

 

The line between pale and red is so fucking blurry anymore with him; you don’t know what quadrant you’re in these days. It really is a waste of time to dwell on the predicament, but you can’t help it. All those forehead kisses and all those times he reached for your hand should’ve been a clear indicator of red romance, but the idea is always shot down with half-hearted shoosh paps and rebellion lectures. You just don’t know, man.

 

The Arena Stickball light arrangement above you flickers, as though it needs to be replaced sometime soon. Yeah, probably. As a lowblood, a lot of the stuff you have will need to be replaced soon: your occupation, where you live, who your friends will be. It’s going to suck, in all honesty. You try to put on a smile for Dammek, try to support the rebellion; but deep down you’ve always had your doubts. Lowbloods have tried to change the world before, and it didn’t end well. It never ends well for the gutterbloods.

 

Still, you try to at least appear like you have some hope for a better world.

 

_ “Just wait, _ ” Dammek had said, so enthusiastically, on a night that you couldn’t quite conjure a date for. “ _ We’re going to do something incredible, revolutionary. We’re going to change everything, Xefros. _ ”

 

With a bored sigh, you attempt to rest your head on his, but are unable to because of the angle that he’s at. His horns are in the way. You are a lowblood and your life is big fat full of disappointments, huh. 

 

Whatever, it’s fine; you probably depend on him too much already. You can at least hold your own head up on your own, you suppose. You’re almost disturbingly aware of how much you need him, but are still caught up on whether or not he really needs you. He doesn’t ask you to help him, he only insists that he should help you. Training, sleeping, music, the whole shabang. Always there to make sure you’re at your prime, even when you don’t ask him to. _ What a considerate moirail you have…! _

 

_...You think. _

 

As you sit there on the ground, leisurely rotating thoughts, back leaning against the wall, he surprises you by mumbling something in his sleep, something about his lusus or whatever. You smile to yourself, feeling maybe slightly victorious because you so rarely get to experience him like this. You don’t mean the whole practically-laying-but-still-sitting-on-you scene; that’s annoying as all hell. You mean the thoughtless mumbles about whatever happened to be on his mind. Completely uncoded, pure and open. He must be having a dream in which the deercat is hoarding things, from what you can tell.

 

You could talk like that to him all day about how your stickball practice had gone, or how the leaves on the tree in your hive were starting to change color, or how you thought you’d started to get the hang of Xultan’s pusher stance, etc., but he always chose his wording carefully when sharing information, always kept it so that he sounded more interesting and his day sounded less boring or exempt of obstacles. 

 

He stops his muttering and nuzzles closer into your neck, showing enough affection that you might just pass out. Yeah, oh god. You can handle the affection when he’s awake, but something about him being asleep is throwing you off. 

 

Maybe it’s the looming thought that, hey, in his subconscious he probably forgot that he fell asleep on you, and that he probably thinks he’s a wiggler and cuddling with his lusus or something; and oh, you didn’t really think this was all for you, right? Good, good - because it’s not; he’s completely forgotten about your presence, you unremarkable piece of lowblood garbage, you uninteresting and meaningless waste of life. Your thoughts are interrupted by Dammek being verbal again.

 

Ah, yes, back at it again with the mumbling. This sleepy fucker. You try to figure out what’s going on in the dream now, but only pick up a few things that have absolutely nothing to do with his lusus.  Maybe the nightmare is beginning? It happens to a lot of trolls if they go long enough without sopor slime. You frown, concerned.

 

Despite the muttering, he continues sleeping rather soundly, not doing much more than shift his leg a little. Damn, he’s like, really sleeping. You wonder if he had actually been up far later last night than he told you. Bold of you to assume that he’d lie to you, no, never. You know this as a fact.

 

The only things he mumbles now are incomprehensible annoyed grunts. You hug him tighter by only a hair, careful not to disturb the troll, but more than ready to do your job as a moirail if he happened to wake up in fright or anything. 

 

He murmurs something, and it sounds pretty familiar. You aren’t entirely sure what it is, though. Perhaps it was only a coincidence, but it sounded almost, almost like your name? Ah, cute. If that was your name, you hope you’re being a good moirail in whatever dream he’s having, and not being a bad one who refuses to shoosh pap their partner like some kind of jerk.

 

A smile tugs at your lips. In a whisper, you ask, “What are you dreaming about?”

 

As if in reply, he sighs calmly and you shiver as it tickles your skin. You feel yourself blush, and you hate it. That gross scarlet reminder of what you are and all that you’ll ever be. 

 

You move your free hand to rest on his, the one that’s clinging to your shirt, and fondly run your thumb on the backside of it. You wish you had the drive to do something like that when he’s awake; but you do not. He does, though. If there’s ever any hand touches between the two of you, it’s because Dammek reached out for you, not the other way around. You shouldn’t even be doing this; trying to hold his hand. It’s gross of you to do, when he’s unaware of it. 

 

He never gave you kisses on your forehead while you were sleeping; that would be the wrong thing to do, to show affection to someone who had no idea they were being kissed, and in your book, while Dammek could certainly inconvenience you -  _ he’d done that quite often _ \- he could do no wrong. So, by process of elimination, he had never tried to hold your hand or anything without you knowing about it, and so you should follow through with that logic, obviously.

 

Forcing yourself to leave his hand alone, you settle to just complete the half-hug you had going on, deciding that throwing your other arm around him would keep your free hand busy and away from his. A few minutes go by, and you find that you’ve closed your eyes. Not really sleeping or anything, but just resting in the peaceful quiet while your moirail napped. 

 

You don’t think you could fall asleep right now, anyways. 


End file.
